


Foggy Nights, Steamy Windows

by draculard



Series: Comfortween [8]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Bad Weather, Broken Bones, Enemies to Lovers, Exasperated Flirting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Pryce's Erotica Collection, These two do NOT lend themselves well to hurt/comfort, Thrawn is a Backseat Driver, Vehicle Crash, Whiplash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It was all Pryce’s fault, which of course she would deny stridently if anyone ever asked her.
Relationships: Arihnda Pryce/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Series: Comfortween [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946224
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Foggy Nights, Steamy Windows

It was all Pryce’s fault, which of course she would deny stridently if anyone ever asked her.

 _She_ had been the one to insist they take her personal landspeeder to Inner Xinga. In her defense, it was a brand-new landspeeder, and she was almost unbearably proud to show it off; it was a fashionable aquamarine color with a custom paint job — nowhere near as gaudy as Thrawn’s “chimaera,” so of course _he_ didn’t appreciate it — and it displayed her status as Governor with both subtlety and style.

And, while Thrawn objected to _all_ these things (because of course he did; “operational security,” he said), his last point was the only one that Pryce truly considered worth a second thought:

It was a sporty little two-seater … with no room for Thrawn’s detail of troopers or Pryce’s assistants.

“Well,” she’d said at the time, “they have their _own_ speeders, after all. If we’re flanked on both sides, with your troopers ahead of us and my assistants behind, what could go wrong?”

Famous last words. But she’d continued:

“Do you _really_ think we’re going to be assassinated on the way to Inner Xinga of all places? Be _serious_ , Grand Admiral.”

Thrawn’s eyes flickered up from his datapad. “I doubt either of us has earned a bounty worth assassination just yet,” he said evenly. After a long moment of studying her, he finally inclined his chin and looked away. “Very well. You drive.”

Which, at the start of their journey, was exactly what Pryce wanted.

Two hours in, she wasn’t so sure.

“This route is not ideal,” said Thrawn from the passenger seat, studying the map of Lothal with a frown.

Pryce took a deep breath, tightening her fingers on the steering yoke. “Grand Admiral,” she said with strained patience, “remind me again, please: which of us is from Lothal?”

“Lothal is a large planet,” said Thrawn, sidestepping the question. “You cannot be familiar with every route, particularly in an area like Inner Xinga, populated almost entirely by non-humans and isolated from the rest of—”

“I’m the _Governor_ ,” Pryce snapped. “Of _course_ I can be familiar with every route! It’s _my_ planet, Thrawn.”

He gave her an unsubtle side-eye at that, but all he said was, “Of course, Governor. I apologize.”

There was silence in the speeder, but only for a moment. Thrawn reached forward, adjusting Pryce’s radio without permission, changing it from the soothing notes of Mon Calamari opera to a local weather station.

“Of _course_ you can change the station, Thrawn,” Pryce said under her breath. “Thank you for asking.”

He didn’t respond to this directly. His eyes were locked on the radio, as if staring at it _very hard_ would help him hear it better. “There is a pale green fog rising from the fields near the tree line,” he murmured. “Is this a typical weather phenomenon for Inner Xinga?”

“Yes,” said Pryce, snapping her eyes to the left. She hesitated when she caught sight of the green fog in question. “Yes, it’s normal,” she said, with less certainty. “But it’s not normally that thick this late in the day…”

“A chemical attack?” said Thrawn mildly. When Pryce glanced at him, he was calmly placing a pair of tiny air filters in his nostrils.

“Stop that, would you?” she said, batting his arm away from his face. “It’s not a chemical attack, for God’s sake. Inner Xinga is _infamous_ for its foggy weather.”

Thrawn left his air filters in and turned the radio up.

_“—motorists advised to watch out for heavy fog tonight in Sectors Halak, Osswan, Sleevin, Pouiric—”_

“ _We_ are in Sector Pouiric,” said Thrawn, consulting his map again. “Although we would _not_ be, had you heeded my advice and taken the more economic route.”

Pryce cast a beady eye his way. He glanced back at her placidly and lifted his comlink.

“Commander Vesk,” he said as the fog grew heavier, encroaching on the flat plain where Pryce was steering the speeder northward. Although it would almost _certainly_ make Thrawn think he was in the right, Pryce decided to hit the brakes a little.

“ _Read you, Admiral,_ ” said Vesk.

“The Governor and I have decided to conduct our meeting remotely, if possible,” said Thrawn, ignoring the sharp look Pryce gave him at that. “Find level ground to land on and shelter for the—”

The fog moved in _quickly_ in Inner Xinga. Pryce had heard that all her life, but she’d never truly appreciated it until now. As the land before her dipped, becoming a valley, the fog crept up until it had eaten up every inch of the landscape around her speeder. It was so thick that suddenly she couldn’t see the stormtroopers in their transport ahead of her, or anything to the side, or her aides in their speeder behind. In the passenger’s seat, Thrawn’s eyes narrowed, but he continued to give quiet, calm orders.

And he was still doing exactly that when the front of Pryce’s speeder collided with what she could only assume was a very, _very_ large rock.

Pryce lurched forward on impact, the steering yoke hitting her hard in the chest. She felt the speeder lifting at an unnatural angle beneath her as the front end of it crumpled against the rock; she’d been going slow, but still, the speeder very nearly flipped end over end. Next to her, Thrawn put a steadying hand against the dashboard, keeping his elbow bent, and secured his datapad against his chest as the momentum slammed him forward against his safety belt.

There was a loud cracking sound. Pryce couldn’t be sure whether it came from her or Thrawn or from the speeder itself.

The speeder crashed back down to the ground — _fully_ to the ground. Its thrusters had failed. Pryce stared in horror at the crumpled durasteel before her, and the smoke that curled from it, mixing with the green fog. She put a hand to her chest, rubbing the sore spot where the steering yoke had hit her.

Thrawn raised his comlink to his lips.

“Commander Vesk?” he said calmly, brushing back a lock of hair that had come free during the crash. 

There was a pause before Vesk answered.

“ _Sir, do you have a location?_ ”

“We’ve crashed,” said Thrawn simply. “You’ll find us stationary on the ground not far from where you last saw us. I do not advise a rescue attempt. Find a place to land, Commander; the fog will fade by morning.”

Pryce stared at him in horror. “ _Don’t_ attempt a rescue?” she said as he cut the comm.

He gave her a quick, almost puzzled look. “They are as affected by the fog as we are, Governor,” he said. “A rescue attempt would not be wise. They are unlikely to find us; the chances are high that they would get lost, and there is always a possibility that they will crash, too.”

“We have a _meeting_ to get to,” Pryce protested.

Thrawn dismissed this entirely and checked his datapad, not bothering to respond; Lothal’s HoloNet lines were few and far between, especially in Inner Xinga, and it was obvious he’d lost his signal. He fiddled with it for a moment, checking data he’d downloaded before the trip.

“Tonight’s forecast shows low temperatures,” he said. “Is your thermal regulation system in working order?”

Pryce cast a helpless look out her cracked windshield (her poor, cracked windshield), at the crumpled front of her brand-new speeder (her poor speeder!). Numbly, she turned the dial for heat. Thrawn blinked, then straightened in surprise and looked down at his chair.

“Heated seats,” he said approvingly. Then, eyes narrowing, “You didn’t use Imperial funds to purchase this speeder, did you?”

Pryce scoffed, but didn’t answer. She turned the heat off again; she was reasonably sure Thrawn wasn’t cold yet, and she knew _she_ wasn’t. She was still sweating a little from the adrenaline spike the crash had given her.

“So…” she said, hissing out a sigh between her teeth.

Thrawn glanced up from his datapad with marked disinterest.

“So we’re stuck here till morning?” Pryce said, mentally spiraling into distress. She could _not_ stand being in a speeder with Thrawn and _only_ Thrawn all night. She'd barely been able to stand the last two hours.

“If the fog lasts that long,” Thrawn said, stiffly inclining his head. He leaned back against his seat as if trying to get comfortable. He shifted his right leg, but kept his left leg extended at an odd angle. “I trust you are not injured?” he said.

Pryce remembered the cracking sound. She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing but bruises, I’m sure,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Not even whiplash. You?”

“I am unfamiliar with ‘whiplash,’” said Thrawn evenly. “But I am experiencing stiffness and pain in my neck, as well as mild dizziness and headache. I believe it was caused by the rapid back-and-forth motion of the wreck.”

Pryce resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She turned away from him and smacked the steering yoke lightly in exasperation. “That’s whiplash, Thrawn.”

“Ah,” he said. He digested this, careful not to move his head too much. “I believe I’ve also fractured a bone in my lower leg.”

Pryce stared at him speechlessly for a moment, her head snapping back around to look at him so quickly that _she_ almost got whiplash. Thrawn’s face was almost entirely impassive, showing only slight hints of discomfort or pain. He turned his head slowly to meet her eyes. 

“You _broke_ your _leg_?” she said.

“Fractured it,” Thrawn corrected her. He lifted a hand and massaged his neck, grimacing a little as he did. 

“Then you need—” She glanced out the windshield at the thick fog and felt the words ‘medical assistance’ die on her lips. With a scowl, she hit the steering yoke again. “Damn it!”

Thrawn watched her with something like curiosity. “Do you not have financial responsibility for this landspeeder?” he asked.

Pryce glanced sideways at him. “Are you asking me if I have _insurance_?”

“Yes,” he said, keeping one hand on the back of his neck. He winced slightly as he spoke, as if his headache had gotten worse.

“ _Yes_ , I have insurance,” said Pryce, glowering out the window. “That’s not why I’m upset.”

Thrawn frowned at her. “Why—?”

“Oh, forget it. Let me see your leg,” said Pryce brusquely. She unbuckled her safety belt and turned in her seat, gesturing for Thrawn to turn and face her. He only stared at her, unmoving.

“There’s no need for that,” he said, eyeing her hands as if they were somehow venomous. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t even looked at it,” said Pryce, exasperated.

Thrawn only gave her a dubious look. With a huff, Pryce sat back against the driver’s side door, with her legs bent and her hands folded over her knees. 

“We’ll be here for hours,” she reminded him. “Because you _clearly_ aren't capable of understanding my motivations here, I'll tell you outright: I am _trying_ to go through the motions of polite society, which dictates that I show at least a _modicum_ of concern for your broken leg. As such, _you_ are supposed to let me take a look, so that we can continue at least _pretending_ to be amicable companions. Do you understand?"

Thrawn narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. After a long moment, Pryce just sighed.

"At least put your feet up," she said. "We’ve been sitting for two hours already.”

“I am not sure why my comfort means so much to you,” said Thrawn mildly. While Pryce was simmering over this _audacious, presumptive_ statement, he obeyed her, gingerly bending his knees and turning in his seat. He eased his left leg up onto the leather seat, then tried to pull it closer to his chest. 

Pryce watched as his leg started shaking from effort. After a long moment, Thrawn had no choice but to stretch it out again, so that his boot extended onto Pryce’s side of the vehicle and brushed against her shoes. She wrinkled her nose.

“I apologize,” said Thrawn with genuine chagrin. “It’s…”

He gestured wordlessly at his leg. Pryce only rolled her eyes and shook her head. Silently, she reached forward and put one hand under Thrawn’s calf, lifting his leg. With her other hand, she worked through the laces on his boot. 

“What are you doing?” he asked her, eyes narrow. He winced as she loosened the laces and got her fingers beneath the tongue of his boot, working it away from his sock. 

“I’m taking a look at the wound,” said Pryce, her patience strained. “Hold still.”

Thrawn did — for a moment — but when she moved her hand farther up his leg and started to slowly, gently work his boot off his foot, Thrawn’s entire body stiffened and his leg jerked in her hands. He pressed himself against the passenger’s side door with a grimace; before Pryce could do anything more than freeze, Thrawn seemed to deliberately hold himself still.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He raised an eyebrow back.

With a huff of exasperation, Pryce pulled his boot off the rest of the way and let it fall to the floor of the speeder. She adjusted her position then, curling her legs up and pulling Thrawn’s foot into her lap. As she rolled his sock down to take a look at his leg, Thrawn adjusted himself too, lowering himself down on his elbows with his head propped against the door at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

Pryce ran her fingers over Thrawn’s shin, searching for any break. To her chagrin, there was no visible evidence of one. When she looked up again, she found Thrawn watching her with a knowing look.

“I did say there was nothing you could—”

“Yes, yes,” Pryce snapped. She shoved his leg off her lap, relishing the wounded gasp Thrawn let out before he bit his lip and gingerly moved away. There was a disgruntled silence as Thrawn tried to get comfortable and Pryce tried to hide the fact that she was flushing, and wasn't sure why. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window at the fog, refusing to acknowledge him.

After several minutes, she was distracted from her brooding by a bright glow.

“What are you doing?” she asked, turning to face Thrawn again. His face was lit up by his datapad.

No, wait. She recognized the decal on the back of that datapad — it was the Governor’s insignia.

That was _her_ datapad.

“I am looking through your holo selection,” said Thrawn.

“Give me that,” Pryce said, snatching the datapad away. To her mortification, Thrawn wasn’t looking at her holofilms at all — he was looking through the sparse collection of holonovels she’d downloaded instead.

Her flush grew darker. Thrawn studied her, one eyebrow raised.

“ _What_?” Pryce snapped, scowling at him.

He picked up his own datapad with an eloquent shake of his head, saying nothing. 

“What, Thrawn?” said Pryce, making an effort not to sound quite so aggressive this time.

“I did not realize a person’s holonovel collection was considered so personal on Lothal,” he said levelly, scanning through his files. “I am searching through my own to share them with you.”

“I don’t want to see your holonovels,” Pryce said with a sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I believe it will lessen your embarrassment somewhat,” Thrawn said.

“I’m _not_ embarrassed.”

He ignored this, keying something into his datapad. Silently, he held it out to her. Pryce considered him for a moment, warring with herself, and then figured she might as well. She took Thrawn’s datapad and studied the selection there. If he was trying to flirt with her...

Her face became a wooden mask.

“Thrawn, there are _thousands_ of holonovels here,” she said.

And _none_ of them were romance or erotica, like her own collection. Her collection which he had looked through. Her collection which included some _very_ telling words in the titles. How the _hell_ was this supposed to lessen her embarrassment? She scrolled through them, noting with some exasperation that every single one appeared to be a military novel or memoir, with each one labeled with the author’s home planet.

“This is for research, isn’t it,” said Pryce flatly.

“Of course,” said Thrawn, eyebrows raised. “What else would they be for?”

“Entertainment?” said Pryce, handing him back his datapad.

“Ah,” he said, as if it hadn’t occurred to him. He took his datapad, shut it off, and held it absently against his chest. He appeared to be thinking. “Then your erotic novels are not for educational purposes?”

Pryce felt her mouth go dry. She shot him a sour look and refused to answer.

“Surely it is more entertaining to engage in such practices _physically_ , rather than reading about them,” Thrawn continued, cocking his head.

“I am _not_ talking about erotica with you,” Pryce said.

Thrawn gave a polite nod, made a face, and rubbed his neck. “Understandable,” he said, voice tight. “In that case, if you are not using your datapad, may I see it?”

“No, Thrawn,” said Pryce, exasperated. “Why do you want it? You have your own.”

“I’ve read all my holonovels,” said Thrawn. “Unless you are willing to make conversation…”

“I’m not here to entertain you,” Pryce said, turning to glower out the window. "And I'm _definitely_ not going to sit here while you get hot and bothered over erotica in the passenger's seat."

She listened to the silence that followed, and after a few minutes, she realized with frustration that she was eagerly waiting for Thrawn to respond so she could continue sniping at him. When he said nothing, she turned to face him again and saw that, much to her consternation, he had indeed found something to entertain himself with.

“What are you doing?” Pryce said frostily.

Thrawn didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were hooded and fixed on his datapad.

“I downloaded several examples of artwork from Inner Xinga prior to our meeting,” he murmured. “I am now studying them. Does it bother you?”

 _Yes,_ Pryce thought, but she couldn’t exactly say why. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Well, don’t you think that’s rather rude?” she said finally, for lack of anything else to say. Thrawn looked up at her in mild surprise.

“How so?”

“There are _two_ of us stuck in this car,” Pryce said. “The least you could do is make conversation. Instead you’ve isolated yourself with a single-person activity, like some sort of awkward, sullen teen.”

She was rewarded with a glimmer of exasperation from Thrawn as he set his datapad down. “Governor Pryce,” he said coolly, “ _you_ are the one who refused to make conversation. I grow tired of these social games. If you have a genuine concern with my behavior, please air it now and I shall conform to your expectations.”

Pryce scoffed. “If you’ve made it this far in life without—”

“Which two-person activity would you suggest?” Thrawn interrupted, his voice like ice.

His eyes were blazing. Pryce swallowed, her throat dry. Her gaze shifted down to his fractured leg … and then up, to his thighs … and then up a bit farther…

She remembered the holonovels he’d seen on her datapad. 

“Well, if it’ll shut you up,” she said airily, “perhaps we could…”

Was it her imagination, or did Thrawn actually roll his eyes? Before Pryce could figure out whether to be offended, he made a snappish gesture for her to scoot back and then swung his legs up onto the seat again, easing himself down against the leather.

“You’re predictable,” he grumbled.

And _he_ was half-hard, so Pryce didn’t bother to respond. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she undid Thrawn’s trousers for him and then shimmied out of her own with a haste that could have embarrassed her, if she weren't so eager to get started. She was mindful of his leg as she climbed on top of him and straddled his thighs.

His left hand rested on her hip, then dipped lower, his fingers stroking lightly against her lips.

His other hand, she couldn’t help but notice, was still on the datapad, angling it so he could see the screen even as he stroked her.

“You’re going to keep studying art?” asked Pryce, incredulous, her hand freezing in place on his cock.

Thrawn shrugged, not even glancing her way. His thumb brushed over her clit with a tantalizing lightness, sending electricity up her spine and making warmth unspool between her legs.

“I’ll look up when things get interesting,” he said.

Pryce stared at him — at his hooded eyes, at his perfectly blank face — and felt his cock twitch between her fingers. Indignation sizzled inside her, then cooled, then warmed again as his fingers dipped down and just barely grazed her lips again. Her eyes blazed into him; she felt a grim smile spreading across her face.

“Challenge accepted,” she said.


End file.
